


love you like a love song

by theviolonist



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon, Fluff, Harry and Louis are failboats in love, M/M, Misguided music references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:58:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theviolonist/pseuds/theviolonist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For <a href="http://1dkinkmeme.livejournal.com/2628.html?thread=1634372">this</a> prompt on the kinkmeme: "Harry and Louis (not established) have this game they play everywhere they go where one says a music lyric at random and the other has to guess the song. There's really no object other than trying to pass the time and prove who has a superior knowledge of music. After months of playing Harry gets a bit bored so he starts thinking of the filthiest lyrics he can get away with saying and loves watching Louis blush and squirm over them, especially when they're in a public place (in which case he'd whisper it because no one else knows they play this game). Louis starts giving as good as he gets eventually and It gets so out of hand that sex eventually happens."</p><p>Or: what happens when Louis and Harry are bored. Hint: it ends in sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love you like a love song

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so, so sorry. Also, yes, the title is from a song by Selena Gomez. I have no shame.

In their defense, it's not like there's anything else to do on the road. Sleeping got old about twenty lifetimes ago (not that they don't like sleeping, because God, they do. Like, Harry had never realized the value of sleep before he started living on five hours of it a night and having to have five cups of _very strong_ coffee to feel slightly more human every morning), especially with these fucking uncomfortable bunks and the bumps in the road, and, well, apart from that, there isn't not much to amuse five hyperactive teenagers crammed in a bus for longer than five minutes. (Not that sleep is _amusing_. Sleep is _necessary_ , which is a concept that the guys at management seem blissfully unaware of.)

And it's not like Harry started it or anything. Louis is the one who suggested it (but then, Louis is the one that suggests most of the things that turn into trainwrecks halfway through). Harry just went along with it. Because Louis is his friend. And it was hot. And he was bored. 

Besides, he's a fucking _rockstar_. He's totally going to win. 

*

"'Made damn sure that Pilates washed his hands and sealed his fate," Louis says as he retrieves a bowl from one of the cupboards (which, seriously, they must be the tiniest cupboards on _earth_. Like, the other day Harry almost twisted his wrist trying to fit _three_ plates in there – how ridiculous is that?) and proceeds to drown his cereals in milk. 

Niall shoots him a _what the fuck are you on about_ look over his own (considerably more full) bowl. Harry ignores him. He's got superior intelligence – he doesn't need pay attention to peasants like him. Or something. 

Harry snorts at Louis's pathetic attempt. "Please, Lou, tell me you're kidding."

Louis flips him off. 

"I'm so happy I don't know what you're talking about right now," Niall says, and resumes munching on his breakfast, ignoring Louis's cries of indignation. 

*

It becomes a regular occurrence. 

No one is really surprised. The others don't join in, Zayn because he thinks he's too good for it and he would only quote Chris Brown anyway, Liam because his taste in music is terrible and Niall because he's happy just eating most of the time and isn't as bored as the rest of them as long as he's got something in his mouth and Justin Bieber in his ears ("Or the contrary," Louis sniggers. Niall flushes beet red and kicks him in the shin.)

They'll just throw lyrics at each other when they're bored, or when they're at a signing, and the other will have to guess what song it's from. Of course, Harry wins most of the time because not only does he have superior intelligence, as previously stated, but he also has a superior knowledge of music, although this was kind of a given. It's mildly funny (Harry will never forget the time Louis yelled "'She's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers'" between two songs in front of fifty thousands fans, complete with the stupid hip thrust. Harry was kind of afraid that they'd broken Tumblr after that one.), especially since a) Harry _always_ wins, and that will never not be awesome and b) they of course try to think of the most ridiculous, over-the-top lyrics they can. They're _Larry Stylinson_. It's what they do. 

The others bear with them. (Well, no, that's a lie. _Liam_ bears with them; Zayn cringes and mutters something along the lines of 'stupid twats' every time Harry spouts something more ridiculous than the time before at Louis, and Niall – well, Niall is still angry from the time Louis sang 'don't go breaking my heart' in his ear every chance he got during a whole week. Harry thought it was hilarious, but Niall's always been a party pooper, anyway.) Management doesn't really find it funny, but Harry doesn't find the lack of sleep funny either, so he figures they're even. 

The thing is, well, it gets boring after a while. And when things get boring, Louis, contrary to what any normal, sane person would do in his place, decides to step up the game. All things well considered, Harry should have expected it, right from the moment Louis started to frown during Harry's soulful rendition of Mumford & Sons's _Little Lion Man_. 

Only he didn't. 

*

They're at a mall signing, and it's – well. It's not that they don't like the fans or anything, because they _do_ , only signing autographs gets old fairly quickly, and if Harry sees his own stupid face looking up at him and smiling dorkily once more he's going to puke. Also, sitting on the same chair for five hours is obviously a form of torture reserved to people who have done very, very bad things in one of the outer circles of hell. Harry _can't feel his ass_. 

Even Louis seems to have lost some of his legendary energy, which is frightening given that wearing him out is usually practically impossible. So the fact that Harry leans over and nudges him isn't sentimental or anything stupid like that. He just wants to _restore the balance of the universe_. 

And the fact that what he whispers in Louis's ear is 'I'm so lost for you' has nothing to do with any, say, hypothetical romantic feelings he might have towards Louis. He just likes this song, is all. 

Louis takes a second (during which he looks like a deer caught in the headlights, all incredibly wide eyes and half-open mouth – Harry enjoys the moment, it's not like it's a look he gets to see very often on Louis) before understanding that they're still playing the game and, just as Harry starts worrying that he'll have to explain what he meant, which, hello, awkward, he grins and tugs at Harry's arm. 

"Dave Matthews Band," he says, and then, with no transition whatsoever, "I want to fuck you like an animal."

Harry chokes on air. 

*

They have to release a press statement saying that Harry got something stuck in his throat, which is the most ridiculous thing ever and of course sends the Tumblr girls into a frenzy of speculation over exactly what this mysterious thing might be. Harry doesn't even want to look up the blogs, that's how crazy they are (he and Louis once made the mistake to click on the 'Larry Stylinson' tag when they were bored and horny. It ended with two unfortunates boners and Louis croaking out "Never again."). 

Louis grins smugly the whole time _Harry_ gets chastised for _coughing_ (and of _course_ Louis whispers NC-17 lyrics in his ear in front of hundreds of girls and Harry is the one to take the blame). For some reason, Harry gets the feeling that he's not going to stop there. 

Well. It's less of a feeling and more an absolute fucking certainty, to be honest. 

Louis, of course, wouldn't be Louis if he didn't rise to the bait, and Harry sort of expects it the next time he strikes – as much as anyone can expect having Louis Tomlinson slur 'Won't you get on your knees' in your ear with five cameras pointed on you and an interviewer expecting you to explain why it didn't bother you to be put in a band when you had auditioned as a solo artist. Harry gulps. He can feel Louis smirking next to him. Fucking tease. 

He deftly directs the question to Liam with his eyes, takes a – admittedly brief – moment to feel sorry for management who must be banging their heads against the wall, and leans in. 

"And if you want it, come and get it for crying out loud," he sing-songs in Louis's ear. 

He can't help but let a self-satisfied spread on his lips when Louis crosses his legs awkwardly and sends him a half-murderous, half-impressed glare. 

Harry licks his lips just to be outrageous. Louis cocks an eyebrow. It's _on_ , bitches. 

*

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't stop there. 

Liam acts like it personally offends him, which in itself is a reason to continue – besides, Harry doesn't see the point in pretending that he doesn't know what sex is (though Liam is a champion at it, there's no denying that). The others just look half-amused and half-irritated in a i _t's Louis and Harry_ kind of way. Harry sort of wishes they'd participate (but then he thinks about Zayn whispering about dick in his ear and, um, no thank you). 

And so it's an endless parade of Louis greeting him in the morning with a cheerful 'Am I who you think about in bed?' and Harry reciprocating with 'Talking sexy to you like that, I don't think you can handle it, boy'. Harry feels mildly ridiculous, but it's worth-it to see Louis fluster and look at Harry with these black, hungry eyes. (Not that he's attracted to him or anything, it's just nice. Harry is so not going to over-analyze that shit. That way lay madness.)

 _Anyway_ , it's funny and it passes the time, and if it causes a few ill-timed boners, well. They're teenage boys – they would get a boner over anything, Susan Boyle included. (They tried 'helping each other out', once (okay, so maybe they'd read a few fanfictions too many), because the friends-with-benefits thing sounded nice after two bottles of vodka and a joint, but it ended with Louis complaining that Harry's mouth tasted like ass and Harry pinching the skin of his finger in Louis's zipper.)

Management send one or two warnings and a promise to buy them ponies if they stop their way, but they've ignored so many warnings it's a skill they could probably put in their resumés if the singing thing doesn't work out. Besides, pets are so overrated. Plus it's not like pissing management off isn't Louis and Harry's everyday commitment, anyway (well at least they're committed to something, right?). 

They include Niall in the game for a bit after they figure out that his blush comes out really nasty in the pictures, but his lack of responsiveness (or rather, his profusion of responsiveness in the form of Irish curses) bores them out of it. 

"You're the only one I want to whisper dirty lyrics too," Louis simpers at him as they're having lunch at MacDonalds in Chicago, hands over his heart, batting his eyelashes like a Victorian heroine. 

Zayn snorts in his milkshake. 

Harry pretends not to be pleased. 

*

It's not that Harry hasn't thought about it, because let's be honest, Louis's bum is a thing of beauty, but there's a big difference between thinking about it and actually _doing_ it. Harry has always been an admirer of the female form (he _wishes_ he had slept with half of his supposed conquests) and, well, Louis is a little short on that front. Plus there's the whole having-a-dick thing, and Harry fooled around with guys back in school – who hasn't? - but taking it in the ass doesn't sound like the most pleasant experience. 

Still. 

Having Louis whisper 'I'ma put some dick into your world' as they're being pushed in a car after a signing session is equal parts funny and a fucking turn-on, and as pleasing as striking back with a – considerably tamer – 'Baby, show me, show me what's your favorite trick' through the bathroom door is, it actually makes Harry think about, well, Louis in the shower, and then what Louis does in the shower, and just, what the fuck? 

It's not like Harry hasn't jerked off to thoughts of Louis before either, and he's pretty sure Louis has too. The math isn't hard (pun not intended): they're two teenage boys who virtually spend every minute with each other, more often than not sitting/lying on each other in some combination or the other, and hanging out with a human-shaped puppy doesn't make their minds innocent by proxy. 

But as cheesy as it is to admit it, what Harry shares with Louis is deeper than friendship and more important than romance, and there's no way he's going to let his hormones ruin that. So before making any move that could permanently damage their relationship, he's going to investigate and ensure that there's no risk. Yes. He is. 

For now, though, he's just going to drop his pants and masturbate to mental images of his best friend slick and naked in the shower. Sounds like a plan. 

*

Of course it was Sugarscape. It's not like any other magazine was going to ask them about 'rekindling their romance', were they?

"So, boys," the interviewer starts, her eyes shining with mischief, "I hear you've got a bit of a game going on?"

Harry resists the urge to facepalm. At least it can't get worse than the Mario Kart interview, right? (Right?) Louis leans forward altogether too eagerly. 

"Yeah," he admits easily. "Where did you hear that?"

She giggles. "A true journalist never reveals her sources," she simpers. 

It takes a lot of self-control for Harry not to snort openly. He can't blame her for trying to get into Louis's pants, but a 'true journalist' probably wouldn't have that kind of slutty... um, unprofessional behavior. Not that Louis is interested, anyway. Harry purposefully puts a hand on his thigh, just to remind him _who_ exactly he's been whispering dirty lyrics to for two weeks. Louis turns to look at him and smiles. 

The girl clears her throat ostensibly, and they both turn to look at her. Harry may be smiling, but it definitely isn't self-satisfaction. 

"So is it true?" she asks. 

Harry snorts, openly this time. Those Sugarscape girls, they just eat the gay up, don't they? Not that they're gay or anything. Or only a little, like, half or something. Harry still likes tits, okay?

Louis smiles at her, his full-on Colgate smile. "I don't know, what exactly did you hear?"

The girl seems a little bit blinded. Rookie. She blinks. "Um, I -" She looks down at her notes – it probably wouldn't be nice to laugh at her. "Basically that you whisper dirty lyrics at each other?"

"How dare you!" Louis exclaims in typical Louis fashion, looking affronted. "We're testing our musical culture."

The journalist laughs. "Yeah, I bet," she snorts.

By some kind of facial _tour de force_ , Louis manages to keep a straight face as he declares, "I think Flower is my new favorite song, to be quite honest with you."

It all goes downhill from there. 

*

"So are you boys dating now?" Anne asks as she shovels some more pasta into Louis's plate. 

"Mom!"

Gemma perks up, looking altogether too interested in the answer, and Louis is looking smug – as he does way too much these days. It feels like the whole world is ganging up on him to lose his ass-virginity, honestly. If Harry had known what 'testing his musical culture' would unleash, maybe he wouldn't have been so eager. He almost misses the days he spent sprawled on his bed, too tired to even wank. 

Almost. 

Harry's cheeks are burning (which is stupid, since he never blushes, and he's eighteen, for God's sake) and he can feel the embarrassment radiating off him in waves. 

" _No_ , mum," he says, purposefully not looking at any of them, instead concentrating solely on his pasta. His pasta is fascinating. It comes in all these colors and it's in the form of little bows. It's very stylish. "Not that it's any of your business, but we're not dating."

"That you know of," Anne replies cheekily, and Louis laughs. Harry tries not to dwell on it too much. 

Fortunately (and Harry is so, _so_ grateful for that), Anne lets the matter drop and they move on to easier topics, including but not limited to Louis's involvement in creating the Carrot Mania (it's clearly his own fault), Anne's own misadventures with the fans, Harry's stepfather's health problems, the shitty state of politics in the twenty-first century and Ed's CD, though this last topic doesn't last them long, since they all love it (Anne insists that Ed should come eat at their house. Harry isn't so sure – usually his friends' vision of him change more or less radically after they've met his mom, and Louis is a lost cause, but he'd like Ed to think he's cool a little bit more). 

Of course, Louis can't miss the occasion of Anne's presence to tastefully drop a cheerful "I'll take home and make you like it" at the dinner table. Anne laughs, Harry splutters his cheesecake all over the table, Louis doesn't look even remotely ashamed: all in all, it's a perfectly regular Sunday night dinner in the Styles home. The only way it could have been worse is if Jay had been here – knowing her and Anne, they probably send each other Larry Stylinson videos, and Harry does _not_ want to think about his mum plotting with his best friend's mother to get them together, thank you very much. 

Actually, Harry tries not to think about Louis and him, um, getting together too much, because that way lay madness. There's no denying that he wants it (the specifics are a little blurry, but Harry likes it that way), but he doesn't feel quite ready to make that known, or to acknowledge it more than he already has, for that matter. Since they've met, Louis has practically been transparent to him, and his romantic pursuits are _not_ the first thing Harry wants to be wrong about. They're friends with a little – okay, a lot – sexual tension. It's good the way it is. Right?

And maybe Harry will do something about it when he feels bolder and less terrified of losing his best friend, his band, his friends in general and the whole life that he's, somehow, miraculously, got himself (it's been _months_ , but it still hasn't sunk in completely, to be honest). Right now, he's happy with seducing cougars and flirting shamelessly with everything that moves, Louis included. That's easy, and he knows what to do – a smile and a flash of dimple, it doesn't usually take much more. Trying _something_ with Louis would be so much more difficult – like walking on eggshells. 

Anne sees them off to Harry's room with a wink and a "Good night, boys" that feels like a blessing for them to have sex. Harry just glares at her. Isn't she supposed to take out the shotgun and chase Louis through the backyard? Parents are so not what they used to be. 

Louis continues singing as they undress and brush their teeth. It's not that it grates Harry's nerves, not exactly – only hearing him hum 'You touch yourself, you think of me' isn't the most calming thing in the world, especially when he's in his childhood room surrounded by his old toys and his N'Sync posters. There's something strangely upsetting about having Justin Timberlake stare at you while you hear your supposedly straight best friend indirectly sing a dirty song at you. 

Not being able to wank is _very_ frustrating, and the frustration is taken to a whole other level when Louis steps out of the shower, followed by steam clouds, water trickling down his neck and chest and sticking his hair to his forehead. And that's not talking about the large expanses of very naked skin (because Harry is not thinking about them. He isn't). 

Seemingly indifferent to Harry's interior moral dilemmas, Louis slips into the bed next to him and proceeds to tangle their legs as he slips a lazy arm around Harry's torso. Great. 

"That was fun," he says sleepily in Harry's ear. 

Harry lays awake, Louis's body bleeding tantalizing heat behind him, and tries to preemptively wish the morning wood away. 

*

All is well for the next few weeks, for a value of 'well' including interviewers repetitively trying to make them dress in drag, a very confusing fan rebus than Zayn tries to decipher to no avail, a raccoon in one of their hotel rooms and a very ill-situated rash on Niall that they all dutifully try to guess the provenance of. Harry keeps on nursing his stupid little crush on Louis and Louis keeps on springing very inappropriate song lyrics on him when he least expects it and is most likely to a) spit something, b) make a high-pitched noise or c) turn beet red and starts stammering when the interviewer asks him what's going on. 

Highlights of this period of time involve: 

\- a video diary gone wrong where there's more banana than they planned, the cameraman leaves in outrage, Harry steps on Niall's wrist and nearly breaks it, Louis tugs on Zayn's pants too hard and Zayn ends up butt-naked on tape (Simon is _not_ happy about this one. "If it ends up on the Internet," he says, "it'll be worse than a sextape." Harry kind of wants to make a sextape just to prove him wrong.)

\- Niall meeting Justin Bieber again and behaving as ridiculously as expected, which is hilarious (he goes in for the european kiss on the cheek (a guy can hope) at the same time as Bieber holds his hand out, and they end up bumping foreheads – Niall is embarrassed for _weeks_ )

\- them finally going to the White House (!!!), meeting more celebrities than they probably ever will, and Louis singing "I've got more wit, a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck, than any boy you'll ever meet, sweetie you had me" with the Panic band members three feet away from them and the president of the fricking United States in front of them, grinning like a madman (which Harry still hopes was about something else, because he would be way too mortified if the President had laughed at his not-boyfriend making a dirty joke). It's not exactly the kind of story you tell your kids. 

\- an unexpected discovery in the form of Josh and Niall, naked, in Josh's bunk. Various reactions include Liam making a high-pitched noise and covering his eyes, Niall flushing so red that Harry's kind of worried it'll stick, Zayn complaining that being in this band turns everyone gay and Louis making a joke that does not bear repeating. Josh mostly looks mortified. Harry can sympathize. 

\- a signing at a mall in Philadelphia, where Louis gestures for Harry to come closer. Harry, being the kind, obliging, _bored_ friend that he is, leans in, and is rewarded by a crooned "I want to be your blowjob queen". It's nothing that much out of the ordinary (and that should probably be a sign that there's something wrong with this situation), save for the coke Harry had been sipping and he ends up spluttering on the fans. And Paul. Paul is not happy about it. 

Other than that, it's pretty quiet. Harry tries to ignore his crush most of the time, fucks a few girls (and even a guy – turns out taking it in the ass isn't that bad. It's actually pretty awesome) when he gets drunk but stops when Louis's betrayed looks (and what is _thatbreathe_ in them, much less walk). 

Everything is good. At least when Louis doesn't wander half-naked (but that's more Harry's thing, so it's mostly okay), or wear braces (more difficult), or breathe near Harry, because he hasn't gotten laid in _weeks_ and he's a teenager, for God's sake. But hey, you can't have everything, right? 

*

The venue for the New York final concert is _packed_. And by packed, Harry doesn't mean their usual everyone-everywhere-and-a-few-in-between packed. More like no-fucking-room-to-breathe packed. Niall started freaking out twenty minutes ago and is as red in the face as the tomatoes he's so fond of, Louis is currently being scolded for sweating so much that there are big damp circles under his armpits (which is stupid, since Harry is pretty sure he didn't _decide_ to sweat, and also, why is Harry thinking about this), Zayn sneaked out, more likely than not to smoke his pack of fags's entire contents, and Harry himself is pretty much certain that he looks like he's going to shit himself. Which, he's not going to, 'cause that would be gross, but there might be some puking happening in the near future. 

It's just that it hadn't really hit him before just how _big_ this all is. No, it sounds stupid, of course it had, because it's a bit hard to miss the thousands of girls screaming in front of every hotel they go to and the posters on every billboard with their giant faces on it (Louis mocks Harry on his resemblance with Susan Boyle literally _every time_ they see one. It's getting old). But between traveling all over the country, sleeping on uncomfortable bunks like they did during the X-factor and eating the same cereal than two years ago in Harry's bungalow, it's easy to lose grasp of how fucking successful they're getting, and that they're going to do Madison Square in a matter of months, and fuck Harry isn't even _legal_ in this country yet. 

It's just that it's all so surreal. 

Harry is so busy quietly having a break-down that he doesn't register Louis sitting down next to him and knocking their shoulders companionably. It's only when the warm gush of breath hits his ear and the words – "I'm running out of ways to make you see" – are sing-sung in his ear that he notices him. 

Harry shouldn't turn to face him, he shouldn't, they're too close like that, nose to nose, and it would be enough for him to lean just this little bit forward and they would be kissing and it's maddening, maddening, too much. 

"Snow Patrol," he says weakly, Louis's eyes boring into his, and then, "Just say yes." It doesn't sound like a lyric, it sounds like a prayer, like he's fucking _begging_ , and Harry would probably be ashamed if there was something in his brain besides _kiss him_ and the reflection of Louis's hot, hungry eyes. 

"Just says yes," Louis repeats, like he wants to make sure, "just say there's nothing holding you back."

And what can Harry do but fall into Louis, cup his face in his hands and bring their lips together? It feels like the culmination of everything they've done together since they met – feels so perfect and imperfect at the same time, Louis's hot pants against Harry's lips and his hands running in distracting little circles at Harry's nape. All the reasons that Harry had not to want it vanish in the certitude – _this_ , this is right and Louis will be his friend no matter what. It's clear as crystal – he just wishes he'd realized sooner. 

Harry moans in Louis's mouth, and he feels Louis's smile stretch against his lips. Anyone could wander by, but they're too far gone to care. 

"God," Louis says when he pulls away, smirking like he knew it all along. 

Harry tries to smirk, reclining against the platform. He's eighty percent sure that he misses the point completely and ends up looking like a fool in love, which, let's face it, he is. "You can call me Harry," he says. 

Louis punches his arm weakly. "You prat," he says, and then they have to go onstage and it's all sweating and singing and Harry has never been happier. 

*

They decline the boys' offer to go out that night, which approximatively no one is fooled by, but the boys decide to be merciful and not force them to join in. Harry has never been more grateful up until the point Niall winks and says, "Have fun," managing to make it sound roughly as dirty as "Cheers on shagging each other's brains off," which is a feat on his part. 

They're embarrassed for about thirty seconds after the door closes behind Zayn, who does his best to look concerned but instead ends up looking weirdly thrilled (and what the fuck, it was enough that Niall is a total Larry Stylinson fangirl). Then Louis's lips crash on Harry's, and yeah, they're _on_. 

Harry doesn't really know why they never did that before, but he'll chalk it up to youthful insanity, because honestly, _why the fuck did they never do that before_. Kissing Louis feels like – like something very, very good, like the first bite of a still-warm muffin or a blanket when it's cold, but also slightly furious, like the adrenalin that races in your veins when you drive your car that little bit faster than the speed limit is. Fuck. Now that they've redeemed their mistake, Harry intends to make good on all the time they've lost. Apparently Louis has the same idea, which is good. Judging by the bulge in Louis's pants, it's _very_ good. 

They kiss for a few minutes. It's different from anyone Harry has ever kissed before (and he's kissed a lot of people – he was kind of… popular in high school) – it feels like kissing someone he _knows_ , inside and out, someone who has virtually no secret for him. It's strange, but it's good, fuck, is it good. Harry scrapes his teeth against Louis's bottom lip and Louis lets out a drawn-out moan. His voice is apparently hardwired to Harry's dick, because it twitches in his pants, and he's hard, and yeah, best show ever. 

"Harry," Louis pants against his lips, and Harry is distracted for a minute by the way he looks so _bare_ with his eyes blown and his heavy eyelids, before Louis sing-songs, mischievous, "Won't you get on your knees?"

Harry snorts. "You're romancing me with _Framing Henley_? Wow, smooth, Tomlinson."

Louis smiles, shark-like. "Seems to have worked fine until now." He leans against Harry, his lips tracing the outline of his jaw, and the moment his breath hits Harry's ear, he knows that whatever Louis says, Harry is going to say yes.

"I -" Harry starts saying something witty but then it kind of gets lost in the shivering pleasure that works its way up his spine when Louis starts nibbling at his ear, all sharp teeth and teasing tongue. "Yes, yeah, okay."

Louis smiles (and God, it should probably not turn Harry on that much, but it does) and pushes Harry on his knees with both his hands on Harry's shoulders. That too probably shouldn't be this hot. Maybe there's a problem with Harry. He doesn't really care. 

It's not that Harry's dreamed about sucking Louis's cock but he totally did, so he doesn't waste time in unzipping Louis's trousers and pushing them down Louis's thighs. This is such a good idea.

He looks up to – tell Louis something, maybe even promise him, and then promptly forgets what it was at the sight of Louis panting and faintly red, his eyes half-shut and heavy-lidded. He grins when he notices Harry's watching him. 

"Get on with it," he says, bringing a teasing hand at the nape of Harry's neck. Harry doesn't moan (except for how he totally does). 

Harry palms Louis roughly through his underwear. Louis hisses, and Harry can't resist pulling himself up to kiss him thoroughly and whisper in his ear, just because he can. 

"Your dick's a perfect suck-me size," he sings softly, making sure his breath hits right where he knows it makes Louis go crazy. Here's an advantage (amongst others) to sleeping with your best friend: knowing what he wants, and how he wants it. Harry foresees very happy evenings in his near future. 

Louis moans and Harry wastes no more time before shoving his underwear down his thighs and licking a thick stripe from tip to root, smirking a little when Louis makes a noise that can under no circumstance be considered manly. 

There'll be plenty of other opportunities for teasing, but right now Harry is pretty sure none of them are going to last very long, what with the post-show adrenaline added to the finally-getting-together thing. He's not an expert in blowjobs, far from it (it's not that he likes girls more than boys, it's always be pretty even, but it was just simpler and less trouble to sleep with girls since he's been famous), but he does his best, tries to take as much as he can in his mouth without choking. If the sounds Louis makes are anything to go by, he's doing pretty well so far. 

Louis sounds close, so Harry's surprised when he grabs Harry's forearms and pulls him up. "Wait, wait," he says urgently, breathing ragged against Harry's cheek. 

He pulls Harry in to kiss him, and it's the best kiss Harry's ever had, fevered and uncoordinated and messy, Louis panting heavily into his mouth. "Wait," he repeats when he pulls away, his eyes dark and shining. Harry pretends not to breath taken. 

"I just wanna take your legs and wrap 'em 'round," Louis hums against Harry's jaw, and a long shudder ripples through Harry. "Bend you back like it's limbo, yeah, Imma put your legs behind your head."

Harry laughs breathlessly and tries not to think about the mortified face Zayn would make if he knew that they used his beloved Chris Brown's lyrics as dirty talk. Not that it's hard to. "God, yes," he says, because it's not like there's another answer, anyway. "Yeah, okay -"

"Okay," Louis repeats stupidly, catching his mouth in another deep, filthy kiss before crowding Harry against the bed and pushing him back-first on the blankets. 

"You have...?" Harry asks, and Louis stops taking off his so-tight-it-looks-like-it's-painted-on shirt for a second to nod frantically. "In my suitcase."

Harry cocks an eyebrow at that, and Louis doesn't even pretend to be embarrassed, the bastard, only smirks and says, "Be prepared for anything, right?" with a shrug.

"You bastard," Harry huffs. "We could have been doing that _months_ ago."

Louis finally finds the lube and condoms and hops on the bed, catching Harry's mouth in a bruising kiss. "Shut up," he groans. Harry chuckles in his collarbone. His happiness makes him a little giddy, light-headed as though he'd been sucking on helium. 

Louis sits up on his knees and surveys Harry with a raised eyebrow. Harry isn't one to be shy (if the constant lack of clothes is anything to go by), even like this, laid out and flushed and painfully hard, but for a second his breath catches in his throat, like he's afraid he won't measure up. Which – God, which is stupid, because Louis looks at him like he wants to freaking _devour_ him, and Harry is so on board with that. 

"God," Louis says, kind of choked-off, and Harry grabs his collar and pulls him down into a kiss. He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of kissing Louis; he's a pretty fantastic kisser and besides, well, _Louis_. Harry would be lying if he said he hasn't been thinking about this since forever – or at least until Louis started whispering filthy lyrics in his ear in a daily basis. In hindsight, this game was such a good idea. 

Louis is also kind of a ninja, apparently, because Harry doesn't even notice him uncapping the bottle of lube and coating his fingers with it until he feels the cold press against his opening. He hisses, surprised. 

Louis looks up at him. "Okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, just – surprised, go on," Harry says, squirming a little to get Louis to push his fingers in, because he's been waiting for this for entirely too long. 

Louis smiles, bites into the plump flesh of Harry's shoulder jokily. "Patience, Curly," he grins. 

"Screw patience," Harry groans. 

Louis just smiles, pushes in a finger. Harry doesn't waste time, starts fucking himself on Louis's fingers, and Louis looks up at him, mouth slack. "Fuck, Harry," he says, and then, "so hot," as he pushes a second finger. If he cared, Harry would probably feel embarrassed at how desperate he must look, his thighs open and quivering, pushing back on Louis's offered digits. 

"It's good, I'm good," Harry says frantically. He opens his eyes to look right into Louis's, the green reduced to a thin ribbon around his blown pupils. "Fuck me."

Louis looks breath-taken for a second. "I – yeah," he says, and suddenly his hands are everywhere, ripping the condom wrap and rolling it on his dick, and he lines it right against Harry's rim, ready to push in. He looks glorious, his cheeks red and his eyes half-closed, panting, supporting himself with his his arms. He bends down agonizingly slow, until his lips are a hair's breadth away from Harry's lips, and then -

"Can I take you now?" he sings, low and raspy and fucking _feral_ , like nothing else matters but this, being inside Harry, "I'm gonna take you down baby nice and slow," and he's pushing in, slow, slow, so agonizingly slow that Harry barely resists the urge to lift his hips and try to meet him halfway. 

At last they're hips to hips, Louis pressed balls-deep into Harry. It feels so fucking good, and Harry doesn't want to be cliché but everything everyone (read: Nick and Caroline) told him about feeling _filled_ was so true he kind of wants to send them a fruit basket. When Louis pulls out it feels like losing something vital, and Harry lifts his hips up wantonly to chase the pleasure, get it back. Of course Louis would be the best fuck of his life. Of fucking course. 

"Then you pull it out," he – well, sings would be a euphemism. Wheezes? - because two can play that game. 

Louis huffs a little laugh but continues all the same: "Open up wide, let me show you what it's made for," before slamming back down, and Harry registers distantly how hot it is but his brain is all mush and blinding, thigh-shaking pleasure.

"You bastard," he says when Louis pulls out again, but it devolves into a long, high-pitched moan, and from there on Harry doesn't even try talking. He has better things to do. 

When he comes it's with Louis looming over him like some kind of bird of prey, his eyes darker than Harry has ever seen. His orgasm ripples through him like a tsunami, all foam-crested waves with bellies full of open treasures, and he can't help but let Louis's name spill from his lips like a prayer, tight and frantic. He takes Louis's dick in hand and Louis's rhythm stutters, his hips slamming into Harry one last time before his body jerks and he comes too, his forehead pushing into Harry's shoulder with a groan. 

Louis rolls off Harry's chest (which is a good thing, because as much as Harry loves cuddling, and as thin as Louis is for a guy, he was actually kind of crushing Harry) and they breathe together for a few seconds, fingers still entangled despite the sweat and the come and everything. (That's how Harry likes to think of them, when he lets himself: despite everything.)

"So that..." Louis starts, sounding kind of awed. 

"Was amazing," Harry finishes for him, because he's pretty sure it's a fair assumption to make. It _was_ kind of spectacular, and Harry has had a lot of sex in his life, even though most of it was with girls. 

"It really was," Louis says, turning to face Harry, and his face does this sort of sweet, tender-y thing which Harry would probably wonder about if he wasn't that blissed-out. He settles on finding it disgustingly adorable. 

"God, your _face_ ," he says. 

Louis laughs and cocks an eyebrow. "How eloquent, Harold."

"Shut up," Harry grumbles, and he fake-punches Louis in the arm. "You're the one who made me incoherent."

Louis opens his mouth to say something that will probably be smug and annoying, but Harry cuts him off. "Don't say anything," he warns. 

Louis raises the other eyebrow. It's kind of ridiculous, in a good way. "Shut me up," he leers. 

Harry yawns. "Later," he says, and settles into Louis's side. "'M tired."

He hears Louis make a crack about his stamina somewhere remote, but he snuggles closer, burying his face into Louis's chest, and then he's dead to the world. 

*

The possibilities for the morning after being awkward (not that they were ever high) topple down to zero when Louis starts chuckling at him as they get dressed in kind-of-strange-but-mostly-comfortable silence. 

"What?" Harry asks warily. 

"No, I just -" Louis says, and guffaws harder. 

"Spill it out."

"It's just – I just remembered – God, Curly, you should have seen your orgasm face," he laughs, out loud this time, "it's _epic_."

Harry punches him in the stomach. "You fucker. I'm never having sex with you again," he says, trying to rein in the smile that's threatening to break out on his lips, and leaves the room. Paul is waiting for them outside, anyway, they're supposed to have breakfast in the van or some shit. 

"Yes you are!" Louis calls from inside the room, and Harry flips him off even though he can't see. The very respectable gentleman passing through the corridor in his bathrobe at this moment raises a judgy eyebrow at him. 

Harry doesn't really care. To be honest, he doesn't care about a lot: he's a little bit deliriously happy, and fuck, it feels good. 

*

Liam is waiting for them in the bus when they get there, looking supremely amused, which is... not an unfamiliar look, but is at least marginally better than the Serious Eyebrows of Doom. He's humming under his breath, and it's only as they get closer that they hear exactly what he's singing. 

"'Tell me more, tell me more, did you get very far?'" 

Harry groans and puts his face in his hands, and Louis cheerfully flips him off. Liam leans in eagerly as they get their bowls out ( _God_ , these cupboards), looking ridiculous with his eyebrows raised and his gossip-queen face on. Isn't he supposed to be the _sensible_ one? 

Zayn and Niall choose this moment to emerge from the back of the bus, of course, looking marginally as exhausted as Harry and Louis, and if it wasn't such a non-secret that Josh and Niall have been sleeping together since, like, forever, Harry would suspect there's something going on between them two. (Maybe Josh and Niall have an open relationship or they like to invite people to their banging parties or something, though, you never know with Niall. Also, so not something Harry wants to dwell on, ew.)

"Wild love with drummer-boy, Horan?" Louis asks, and Niall flips him off almost carelessly as he reaches for the cereal box. He forces Harry to make him pancakes usually, but apparently he's caught on to Harry's exhaustion, which, yeah. Maybe it's, like, sex-empathy or something? 

"Don't try to change the subject, Louis," Liam says, apparently still eager for all the details of their night. Harry kind of pities him. It's like he doesn't know Louis; for him, the best defense is always offense.

It doesn't miss. 

"Well, if you must know, Payner," Louis starts, leaning his hip against the edge of the table, "we had sex, yes, and it was amazing." Niall's head snaps up comically at that, and Harry can't help from snorting. "In fact, Harry does that thing with his hips where he -"

Liam turns tomato-red and holds his hands up. You'd never believe the boy is having sex on a regular basis; despite basically living with him, Harry still believes that he's made mostly of puppies and rainbows. "Okay, okay, I got it," he says. "God."

Harry laughs and tucks his face into Louis's shoulder. 

"Let's have breakfast, you twats," Liam says, still crimson, "or Paul'll have our heads."

There's a clatter as they adjust the chairs, Louis's hip pressed close against Harry's, a tangible warmth that he can touch, that is _his_. Harry feels a little light-headed with happiness. 

"Yeah," he says to no one in particular, and then he catches Louis's eye and can't help but sing-song: "You make me feel like I'm living a teenage dream."

He's pretty sure the smile in his voice says it all, and from the way Louis's eyes light up when he leans in to kiss Harry lightly, grinning all the way through it ("God, you're nauseating," Zayn groans in his cup of tea), he's pretty sure Louis feels the same way.


End file.
